The Don't Blow Me to Kingdom Come Affair
by djs4
Summary: Napoleon doesn't have his best day.
1. Chapter 1

The Don't Blow Me to Kingdom Come Affair

cast

Napoleon Solo: dashing and debonair secret agent (cheers from the audience)

Illya Kuryakin: dashing and almost as debonair as Napoleon (more cheers, loudest from young female viewers)

Connie Shaw: beautiful innocent (loud cheers from the male viewers)

Dane Shaw: her handsome husband (murmurs of discontent from the male viewers, murmurs of appreciation from the female viewers)

Anneke Hendrickson: pretty blonde possessor of the Kingdom Come formula (subdued murmurs from the male viewers, most are still glued to Connie)

Baron Jurn: requisite bad guy (boos, catcalls and whistles from the audience)

Mahn Montan: Baron Jurn's enormous right hand man (gasps from the audience)

Various Thrush and Jurn henchmen: cannon fodder (more boos)

Sir John Raleigh: makes a brief but telling contribution (more cheers from the female viewers)

Chapter 1

Napoleon looked at the painting in front of him. An improbably cupid looking child was holding a white kitten in her lap. He looked down at his handbook and read the unimaginative title of 'Child with Kitten' and made a wry face. He was standing in a corridor of the Stockholm Art Museum looking at paintings by contemporary artists. The corridor stretched to his left with paintings hanging on both walls. A little to his right the corridor made a right angle turn and disappeared from his view. He looked without seeming to at the pretty young blonde woman standing about ten feet from him looking at paintings hanging on the opposite wall. He was to meet a blonde in front of the middle still life painting in a set of three just behind him and a little to his left at 11:30 A.M. He didn't know who it was but they would identify themselves with code phrases. He glanced surreptitiously at his watch, 11:25.

He glanced down the long corridor. Besides the blonde, there was a little old grey-haired lady with one of the largest handbags he had ever seen and four men looking at the artwork. Two of the men, both blonde-haired, were standing together making low voiced comments about the painting they were looking at. The other two men, both brown-haired, were not together but were several feet apart. Just then a janitor came around the far corner pushing a garbage can on wheels. Napoleon's attention sharpened, 'you could hide a cannon in that thing,' he thought to himself. He glanced at his watch again, 11:26.

He moved to the next painting, an abstract with black, green and red lines emanating from the center. He winced at the wildness of it and glanced at his guidebook. 'Anxiety' was the title and he made a grimace. 'It certainly gives me an anxiety attack', he thought to himself. He checked out the blonde again. She was certainly very attractive, maybe when this meeting was over he could invite her to lunch. Then someone came around the corner. Napoleon looked once and then took a second look, just like all the other men in the corridor. It was another blue-eyed blonde, but not just another pretty blonde. In a country filled with good looking blondes this one was extraordinarily beautiful. A classically beautiful face, blonde hair falling in waves to below her shoulders, a dress of pale yellow with large blue flowers loving covered an outstanding figure. She glanced at her guidebook and walked straight to the nearest still life.

Napoleon felt the tightness of impending action. He glanced at his watch, 11:27, and the part of his brain that was all business kicked into high gear. He turned and moved towards the center painting, noticing the merely pretty blonde glance at her watch and then stand staring at the painting in front of her, and also noticing one of the blonde men eating a candy bar. It seemed to him the others were all drawing closer and he became very wary, but he had no choice but to continue on.

He stepped to the side of the painting, allowing room for the woman to come close to it. He shot her a side glance; she looked to be in her late 20's or early 30's, very early 30's at the most, he corrected himself, and at this range he could not see anything that could possibly be improved on in her looks. At precisely 11:30 she stepped over to the middle painting and gazed fascinatedly at it.

He cleared his throat and said, "I think the artist did a fine job with the fruit, but the background is a trifle weak, don't you think?" He waited for her response to his code phrase. Then he got a second shock.

"Oh yes, the color of the orange is well done, but just look at the coloring on the apple, the delicate shades merging into each other," she gushed in a surprising American accent. "It looks like you could just reach out and take a bite out of it." She turned a brilliant smile on him and gave the coded response, "My mother paints still lifes." She turned back to the painting, "And the balance is so well, the grapes over here and how they counterpoint the pear on this side."

Napoleon blinked at the rush of information that poured out of mouth about the objects in the painting. All he wanted, besides a lunch date, was what he had come for. "Excuse me," he interrupted the flow, "but what about the formula," he asked in a lowered voice.

She stopped and blinked at him. "Formula?" she asked in a too loud of voice.

Napoleon glanced around and saw the blonde man threw his candy wrapper into the janitor's can. 'A signal?' Napoleon thought to himself, and turned to the blonde. "Yes," he said in a low voice," do you have the formula?" Something was going down, he was too experienced an agent not to recognize or ignore the feeling of danger he was feeling. He went to take her arm, "I think we had better leave," he murmured to her.

She moved her arm away with a glacial look coming into her eyes, "Leave? I'm not leaving with you!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw the janitor pull a Thrush rifle out of the garbage can, which didn't surprise him, but what gave him his third shock of the morning was when he jerked to the side to pull his own UNCLE special out, a bullet hole appeared in the painting, ruining the picture-perfect apple, and he twisted to see the little old lady with a huge smoking hand gun clenched in both her fists pointing towards him. It appeared to not only surprise him but all five of the other men, who were all pulling guns out and staring at each other. They started shooting at each other while at the same time searching for nonexistent hiding places.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Run!" Napoleon shouted and grabbed his blonde's hand. They whisked around the corner just as Granny missed him again, raced down that corridor, down the stairs and through the door to outside closely followed by the other blonde. Once outside she turned and raced away and Napoleon's blonde tried to follow. Napoleon tightened his grip on her hand and said, "You're coming with methis way," as he hurried towards a waiting cab with the meter running. The blonde put on her brakes and yanked him to a stop. "I'm not going anywhere with you…," she began. Granny appeared at the door and aimed her gun again. The blonde hit the accelerator and pulled Napoleon towards the cab. Now he knew how a yoyo felt. Napoleon wrenched open the rear door, bundled her in and jumped in himself. "Get us out of here," he ordered Illya, who was behind the wheel. Illya obligingly sped off and Napoleon turned to the woman. "Now, miss…" he began. She raised her left hand, waggled her ring finger and stated firmly, "Mrs."

"Napoleon, you missed that?" came Illya's reproachful voice from the front seat. Napoleon felt flustered. "I was busy counting guns, not rings," he retorted. He noticed Illya's eyes flicked to the rear view mirror. Napoleon turned back to the woman. "Mrs.," he began again, "Do you have the explosive formula?"

"What formula? The only formula I know is baby formula." She was obviously puzzled and sat back in her corner with a wary look in her blue eyes and an expression on her face like she suspected he was a lunatic. Napoleon felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He tried again, "We were contacted by someone who said they had a formula for a unique and very powerful explosive. They said a blonde would be at the Stockholm Museum of Art, in front of that particular painting at 11:30 this morning. Our person was to say 'I think the artist did a fine job with the fruit, but the background is a trifle weak, don't you think?' and the blonde was to reply 'My mother paints still lifes.'" He looked triumphantly at her; she looked blankly back at him. "My mother does paint still lifes, that is why I was looking at it."

"Napoleon, you grabbed the wrong blonde," came Illya's reproachful voice again. He shook his head sadly. "Mr. Waverly will not be amused." His eyes flicked to the rear view mirror again as he suddenly turned a corner.

Napoleon groaned, and then switched on his famous smile. "Let us start over. My name is Napoleon Solo, the taxi driver is Illya Kuryakin. We work for the U.N.C.L.E. Have you heard of us?" he asked hopefully. She thought for a moment. "Is that a United Nations Charity something or other?

His smile turned crooked, "Not exactly. What is your name?" he smiled invitingly. She gave him another wary look but then said, "Connie Shaw. Mrs. Connie Shaw. And if you don't release me immediately my husband will kill you." She looked at him seriously but Napoleon said tongue-in-cheek, "I sincerely hope he won't, that would cause me no end of distress."

Illya interrupted, "Perhaps you should report in to Mr. Waverly while I try to lose our tails."

"Tails?" Napoleon queried.

"Yes, two of them," Illya confirmed. Just then a bullet went through the rear window. All three jumped and Connie squeaked. "They're shooting at us?" Napoleon asked in amazement. Illya replied in equal amazement, looking in his mirror, "No, they are shooting at each other!" For the next few minutes a bizarre rolling gun battle went on between the dark colored sedans chasing the dark blue taxi as Illya twisted and sped down streets. The passenger side mirror was shattered by another stray bullet. Finally he made a 135 degree turn onto a street coming in at an angle and lost their pursuers when they couldn't make the turn. The turn threw Napoleon and Connie together in a heap in the corner of the seat. They untangled themselves as Illya gunned away and Connie glared at Napoleon as she straightened herself. Napoleon apologized, "You must forgive my friend, he just got his license and likes to show off." Illya snorted, "Don't forget Mr. Waverly."

Napoleon sighed and pulled out his communicator. Connie stared wide-eyed as he pulled off the top of what looked like a pen and stuck it to the bottom and spoke into it, "Open channel D." Mr. Waverly's voice came in, "Ah, Mr. Solo. Did you make contact with the lady?"

Napoleon squirmed. "Yes and no," he answered.

"Mr. Solo, am I to assume there was a difficulty?" Mr. Waverly asked. "It seemed to be an easy, straightforward rendezvous."

"I met a blonde at the painting at the correct time and we exchanged the code phrases but," Napoleon swallowed, "it was the wrong blonde."

"Mr. Solo!" Mr. Waverly sounded outraged. "And then what happened?"

"I took her with me when several people started shooting at each other. Then they followed us in cars and carried on shooting at each other."

"Did I hear you correctly, they were shooting at each other?"

"Yes, sir. Apparently there are two other parties interested in the formula who don't like each other. One of them is our birded friends, I have no idea who the other group is," forestalling the next question.

"Were you able to give them the slip?" Mr. Waverly skipped to the next query.

"Yes, but I need to run a check on the young lady to verify her identity," Napoleon stated while Connie gave him a frowning look. "She is Mrs. Connie Shaw, an American, here in Stockholm with her husband." He gave her a questioning look. She glared back, "Yes, Dane Shaw. Major General Dane Shaw."

"I will pass it on to Records. Are there any other blunders to report?"

Napoleon winced, "No sir, Solo out." He put his communicator away.

"Napoleon, this vehicle is too conspicuous now, we need to switch cars," Illya opined.

"Okay, go back to the garage and we'll grab another car," Napoleon agreed.

Connie gasped, "You're going to steal a car?" as she squirmed closer to the door.

Napoleon looked blankly at her. "Of course not. UNCLE keeps a fleet of vehicles here in Stockholm. We are simply going to trade vehicles." He gave his charming smile, "We are the good guys."

"Humph," was her reply.

Illya drove down side streets and back streets, weaving his way to the local UNCLE headquarters, making sure that nobody would follow them there. He pulled into a parking garage and stopped at the lowered gate. The sign said in both Swedish and English 'Private Parking'. Illya held out his identification and let the close circuit tv get a good look at his face. The barrier rose and he drove inside, parking next to a non-descript dark gray sedan. Illya and Napoleon got out.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"I don't like it,"Illya said quietly. "She is much too calm. A normal person would be having hysterics. She has been shot at, chased and practically kidnaped and she hasn't turned a hair."

"I agree," Napoleon said. "You go inside and get the picture of her; Records should have sent it by now."

Illya nodded and disappeared towards the entrance door to the headquarters while Connie got out of the taxi.

"Where's your friend going?" she asked.

"The little boys' room," Napoleon answered smoothly. Just then his communicator beeped.

"You're pen is beeping," Connie offered helpfully.

"Thank you." Napoleon activated his communicator, his suspicions about the so-called Mrs. Shaw climbing. She was simply not adding up. "Solo here," he announced to the communicator.

"Napoleon," came a sultry, sexy feminine voice. "I have the record you requested." He recognized the voice as belonging to Rachel Dent in Records, and the voice did match her looks.

"Go ahead," he ordered.

"Mrs. Connie Shaw (he caught the emphasize on the Mrs.) is a blue-eyed blonde. A note says she is extremely beautiful. Is she more beautiful than me?" came the husky request.

"Well," Napoleon paused and glanced at her. Connie cocked a confident eyebrow. "There are different kinds of beauty. She is blonde, you are a red-head," his voice trailed off.

"Oh, is she listening?"

Before Napoleon could answer another voice came on the line. "She is not the only one that is listening, Miss, er, Dent."

"Mr. Waverly," Rachel gasped, and then became all business. "Mrs. Connie Shaw is 30 years old, married with two children. Her husband is Major General Dane Shaw. He is in Sweden as an official observer of the Swedish bi-annual war games. Her parents are General Peter and Corinne Anderson. Mrs. Anderson is a renowned painter of still lifes."

"Er, yes," Mr. Waverly's voice came back on. "I saw an exhibition of her works two years ago, a most remarkably talented young lady." Mr. Waverly's penchant for calling women younger than himself 'young ladies' paid off again as Napoleon saw Connie's face soften into a genuine smile as she thought of how her mother would react to being called a young lady. Napoleon smiled back at its loveliness as Mr. Waverly went on. "By the way Mr. Solo, General Shaw is reputed to be one of the most dangerous men in the American army in hand-to-hand fighting. If I were you I would be most careful about explaining how you abducted his wife."

Napoleon raised skeptical eyebrows as Connie gave him an 'I told you so' look. In his experience generals were opinionated middle-aged grey-haired men in their 50's or 60's and definitely not to be feared in fist fighting. "I'll be sure to give a rapid account, sir, before he has a chance to show his expertise," Napoleon said dryly.

"I would hope so, UNCLE has expended a great deal of money on your training and it would be most regrettable to have it wasted," Mr. Waverly stated just as dryly.

"Thank you sir, I'll keep it in mind." Just then Illya jogged into view and gave Napoleon a nod, the picture matched the beautiful face. Napoleon turned back to his communicator. "We have another problem, sir."

"Another one, already?" Mr. Waverly sounded surprised.

"Yes, sir." Napoleon's mind was racing. "The other blonde I saw in the museum must be the one I was to meet. Since both groups believe Mrs. Shaw is the contact, I think Illya and I should stick close to her for protection," (he heard a couple of feminine snorts). "in which case we need someone to search for the real contact."

"Good idea Mr. Solo. I am glad that our money has not been wasted on your training. Sir John Raleigh has just successfully (Napoleon winced at the ever so subtly emphasized word) finished an assignment in Copenhagen and is waiting for a plane to fly him out. I'll redirect him to Stockholm. Are there any other problems you wish to report?"

Napoleon winced again while Illya looked smug. "No sir, have Sir John contact me when he lands. Solo out." Napoleon put away his communicator and turned to Connie. "I owe you an apology Mrs. Shaw. You were so calm when everything blew up I thought you were part of it. Most people, just enjoying themselves in a museum and then when people started firing at you, well," Napoleon spread his hands, "they scream, have hysterics, faint, something, but you didn't."

Connie looked smug, "I'm not most people. Besides, I have been kidnapped, held hostage and shot at before and screaming, fainting or having hysterics don't help the situation at all." She correctly interpreted his look. "You don't want to know what happened to my abductors."

Napoleon eased a suddenly too tight collar. "We'll take you to your husband now, where is he?"

"He is at the Ministry of Defense."

They went to get in the sedan and while Illya courteously held open the rear door for Mrs. Shaw Napoleon slid into the back seat. Illya scowled at Napoleon, who smiled back. Illya glanced at the taxi meter and said, "That reminds me, you owe me nine kronor for being the taxi driver. Plus tip," he added firmly.

Napoleon waved airily, "Add it to my bill."

Illya slid beneath the wheel, "Which you never bother to pay."

Connie gurgled a chuckle at the men's badinage as well as the relief of finally being promised to be reunited with her husband. Both men's pulses jumped at this most entrancing sound. They looked at each other and Illya drove off.

Napoleon thought to himself that if couldn't strike up a flirtation with one of the most beautiful women he had ever met and who was married to some old goat twice her age, well, his name wasn't Napoleon Solo. By the time they reached the Defense Ministry he was ready to change his name.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Under circumstances like these he had gentle and comforting words and actions that would soothe frightened or flustered young ladies, but that plan of action was stillborn: Mrs. Shaw wasn't flustered or scared. He went to plan B and started using some of his well-practiced compliments and lines on her while she just sat there with an amused look on her face as she stared back at him. Finally she interrupted him and said, "Mr. Solo, I've heard these lines since I was sixteen and I am not in the mood for them now."

Napoleon collapsed and caught Illya's wickedly amused eyes in the mirror.

When they reached the building Illya parked the car and the three of them got out and walked into the building. In the foyer there was a group of men standing and talking. The one with his back to the door was wearing an American army uniform; the others were wearing the dress uniforms and medals of the Swedish Army. When they got close enough, Napoleon heard the American say, "And I count off points if everyone in the headquarters is not wearing side-arms." One of the Swedish generals had a disapproving look on his face and asked, "But surely that is entirely unnecessary. The headquarters is safely behind the lines."

"Commando raids," the American answered succinctly, "I have won war games with commando raids on the headquarters. Also, if a front line unit suffers major officer loss, you will need to send an officer up to take command and he can't take the time to run to his bivouac to grab his gun, not when minutes can be the difference between victory and defeat."

While he was talking Connie walked up behind him and linked her arm with his. The man, obviously Major General Dane Shaw, never skipped a beat in his speech. He then introduced her, "Gentlemen, my wife, Connie Shaw," Napoleon watched the fatuous smiles on the Swedish officers' faces as they tried to outdo each other in paying fulsome compliments to her, which she gracefully and expertly deflected.

Illya edged closer to Napoleon. "Did you see that?" he asked. "She walked up behind him, there was no possible way he saw her and when she touched him…"

"He didn't twitch or miss a word," Napoleon finished for him. They looked at each other. "Somehow, he knew she was there."

While they were conversing the Swedish officers left. The Shaws turned to each other and Napoleon and Illya moved closer and heard him say, "Now tell me what's wrong?"

When Napoleon saw his face he got his next shock of a day destined to be full of them. General Shaw was young, in his 40's, with very dark brown, almost black, hair with a few grey hairs starting to appear at his temples which gave him a very distinguished and handsome look. He was a little below average height, about 5'6" with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Also in Napoleon's experience vertically challenged army officers overcompensated with loud and commanding voices, but his voice was soft. Napoleon's eyes narrowed as he started to think that this was highly unusual general.

"I went to the museum to see the paintings where I was shot at and kidnapped," Connie explained concisely. Napoleon expected exclamations, sounds of disbelief, 'you're joking' or something along those lines from such an unexpected bald statement. Instead her husband blinked. "Are these the police," he asked politely and turned and looked at him and Illya. Napoleon found himself speared by brown eyes the raked him and Illya, who Napoleon noticed straightened to attention. He himself had the same urge. That instant look gave him the opinion that the general had noted everything about the two of them and he could have given a picture-perfect description of them.

"No, they are the ones who kidnapped me," Connie explained and added, "this is my husband, Dane Shaw." Napoleon thought it was time for some fast explaining. "I am Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin, we work for U.N.C.L.E." Napoleon took out his identification and showed it to him. General Shaw looked at it and stared at them. Finally he said, "United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. I have standing orders to assist you whenever requested. Would you mind explaining what happened?"

Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief. "Certainly, perhaps we could sit over here?" pointing to some overstuffed chairs in the corner. Once seated, Napoleon explained the happenings of the morning. Dane listened attentively and when Napoleon was finished said, "So somebody thinks my wife has the formula. The solution seems simple; she needs to leave the country."

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid," Napoleon politely disagreed. "Thrush knows no boundaries and will simply follow her. The situation must be resolved here in Sweden."

"Thrush?" Connie asked with a puzzled frown. "What does a bird have to do with it?"

"Thrush is an organization," Illya chimed in. "It is worldwide and its goal is to control the world through any and all despicable means."

"So, until whoever actually possesses the formula is discovered, my wife is in danger," Dane stated softly.

"They will try to take the formula from her," Napoleon agreed, "but they won't try to kill her," he added encouragingly. Dane just looked at him. "Illya and I will guard her, we have another agent on the way and he will find the woman I was supposed to meet," Napoleon hurriedly added.

Dane hesitated, "I really have some things I have to wrap up before lunch." He looked around, "It probably wouldn't be wise for you to hang around here though, too conspicuous."

"I would like to go back to the hotel and freshen up," Connie interjected. Dane raised a questioning eyebrow at the agents, who looked at each other and nodded.

"When I get there I'll give you a call from the lobby and we'll have lunch," Dane put in.

They stood up and the Shaws quietly embraced. Dane looked at the two men, "Take good care of her," he ordered in his quiet way, but Napoleon caught the underlying steel in his voice.

"Yes sir, we will," he promised.

Dane watched as the three of them left.

They drove to the Isnetrad Hotel, an old but highly regarded hotel. While Connie got her key from the desk clerk, Napoleon waited by the elevator and Illya positioned himself so he could watch the door. Connie walked over to the elevator which was actually run by an elevator operator, an ancient looking relict who looked like he had been there since the hotel opened over a century ago. The three of them got in with Connie saying, 'Fourth floor, please," when the operator held the door open for another passenger.

Napoleon felt anxiety; if it had been a self-service elevator he would have closed the door, even though the passenger was a female. He glanced at her. She was on the wrong side of forty and all skin and bones and angles with a hatchet shaped face. The two women stood side by side and Napoleon thought he had never seen such a contrast in women before. Still, he was highly uneasy about anyone else being with them. He glanced at her handbag. It was normal sized which gave him some relief.

The woman said something in Swedish to the operator, who closed the door and started the elevator. Second floor, third floor, she didn't get off and Napoleon became uneasy. 'Stop it,' he told himself, 'you're jumping at shadows.' Fourth and last floor and the elevator stopped and opened.

They got off and the elevator closed and started descending. Hatchet-Face stood and looked at the door numbers, obviously trying to orient herself as to which direction to turn. Connie went to the right and unlocked the door to 411. She said over her shoulder as she walked in, "If you will come in while I oh…"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

She halted both speech and locomotion while Napoleon went for his gun and then froze at the sight of three gun barrels on them. Then came a voice from behind them in accented English, "Please, go on in." He looked over his shoulder and saw Hatchet-Face holding a gun on them. These handbags were definitely causing him trouble today.

Napoleon, Illya and Connie were ushered into the room and stood there while two of the men in the room expertly frisked Napoleon and Illya, relieving them of guns, communicators and a few other devices well known to Thrush and then tied their hands behind their backs. Napoleon had no doubt who they were, the three men looked like all Thrush rank and file: big, strong and not exceptionally bright.

Then Hatchet-Face took Connie's pursed and emptied it. "Stop that!' Connie yelped. "That belongs to me!" Hatchet-Face gave her a look of dislike and pawed through the belongings. There were the usual things that women carry with them: tissues, make-up, a bottle of nail polish, billfold, loose spare change, bobby pins, band aids, folded up scissors, screwdriver, assorted pills, hairbrush, comb, Swiss Army knife, spray for skinned knees and elbows. Just the normal, everyday items, but no formula.

Hatchet-Face turned to Connie. "Where is it?" she hissed at her.

"Where is what?" Connie played dumb. Napoleon didn't think it would get her anywhere. It didn't.

"The formula for the explosive, of course."

'I don't know what you are talking about," Connie averred.

Hatchet-Face sneered, "And I don't suppose you just happened to be visiting the Museum of Art and just happened to bump into UNCLE agents either."

"Well, actually…" Connie began.

"We were fortunate that one of our men there remembered the beautiful (Hatchet-Face's mouth twisted and her eyes glared at Connie as she said that word) Mrs. Shaw when he seen her at a New York exhibit of her mother's work. With Thrush's resources it was easy to find where you were staying."

Napoleon took that one with a little grain of salt. He had a shrewd suspicion that they had gotten to the hotel room just before his party arrived.

"Yes, beautiful," she hissed balefully. "He kept talking on and on how beautiful you are. I know all about women like you, using your beauty to get your way, riding roughshod over others. But now I have you and I will get the formula."

A wary look entered Connie's blue eyes while Illya interjected, "Does everybody like still lifes except me?"

Connie looked at him with some relief. "My husband doesn't like them either." She gave him a speculative look. "You know, I think you and him would get along just fine."

"How about me?" asked Napoleon, entering into Illya's procrastination, trying to delay them until General Shaw's phone call. Also he was trying to ease the tension. He had no idea how close Mrs. Shaw was to breaking, and if she was allowed to answer the phone when her husband called she would need all her wits about her. He was wishing he could say something to prepare her for the need to subtly alert him, but he couldn't say or do anything to cause suspicion.

She looked at him, "Oh, he won't like you at all. You are much too flirtatious, especially with me."

"Enough!" Hatchet-Face practically screamed. "Enough jabbering!" She glared at Connie. "Since the formula is not in your purse I'll have to search you."

"Oh no you won't," Connie exclaimed drawing herself up and looking fierce.

"If I don't, they will," Hatchet-Face gloated, indicating her minions.

Connie fumed for a minute and then indicated the bathroom. "In there then, not out here where everybody can see." She marched in followed by Hatchet-Face.

While they were gone Napoleon looked worriedly at Illya. He had a hunch Hatchet-Face had always been an ugly child and then an ugly woman with a hatred of beautiful women. Now she had in her control an incredibly beautiful woman and he wasn't too sure about her sanity. That ugly look in her eyes gave him the willy's. Illya gave an infinitesimal shrug. There was virtually nothing they could do now; they would have to wait for an opportune moment to make a break.

In a couple of minutes they came out, Connie with a red face and Hatchet-Face with a puzzled look. "She doesn't have it on her," she declared. Then she made a decision. "We'll take them in and question them much more thoroughly." A look of anticipation came over her face. "Much more thoroughly," she purred.

"You can't take us down the elevator," Connie crowed. "The elevator operator couldn't possibly not notice us tied up, even if he is a hundred years old."

"Fool," Hatchet-Face sneered. "We'll use the back stairs, of course."

The telephone rang.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Everybody stared at it. It rang again. "Who are you expecting?" Hatchet-Face hissed.

Connie shrugged, "It could be my husband. He said he might have a chance to take me out to lunch."

Third ring. Hatchet -Face made a quick decision. "Put a bug on it." While one of the men attached what looked like a suction ball with earphones to the back of the earpiece of the phone, she said, "If anyone makes a noise, she dies." She turned to Connie, "Now you be a good girl and get rid of him without making him suspicious." Connie nodded and Hatchet-Face put on the earphones.

Connie turned so her back was to the door and the bathroom just as the phone rang for the seventh time. She hesitated and then picked up the receiver. 'Hello, Sugar,"

There was a hesitation. _"How did you know it was me?"_ said Dane's voice which only the two women could hear.

"Telepathy. Are you calling about taking me to lunch?"

Another slight hesitation. _"I could take you out, if you are free?"_

"No, actually I ran into some old family friends, quite unexpectantly. You never met them, the Goldman's. They offered to take me out. Since we'll be talking about things and people you never met, it would be pretty boring for you."

"_All right. I am pretty busy here and it would be best to see you later."_

"You could take me out to supper at that restaurant you mentioned yesterday, you know the Back… Back…Back what was it?"

"_Backschrlesen. Sounds good to me. I'll see you at six then."_

"Okay. By the way, sorry it took me so long to get to the phone, I was back in the bathroom," Connie waved a hand behind her in the direction of that room.

"_I wondered if you were back there. See you in a little bit."_

"Bye." Connie hung up the phone and stood there with her head down.

While they were talking Napoleon felt his muscles tense up. He had been hoping that when her husband called she could somehow give him a warning, but with the bug on, if Dane made any slip at all, no matter how small, it would be curtains for all of them.

Hatchet-Face removed the bug and stuffed it in her purse. "Very good, if you continue to act that good you will see your husband at supper tonight." She gave what she fondly thought was a reassuring smile. Napoleon shuddered at the grotesque look.

Connie looked up with tear-bright eyes. "That could be the last time I talk to him," she said with a strained voice.

Napoleon's estimation of her intelligence went up. They likelihood of them all dying once they reached the Thrush satrap was very high.

"Now we have to tie you up," Hatchet-Face said to Connie.

"Speaking of bathrooms, I have to use it," Connie replied.

Hatchet-Face frowned, "No, we need to get going, you can go later."

Connie said firmly, "Not if you don't want a puddle in your vehicle. I need to go now."

"Oh, very well then, I'll take you," Hatchet-Face said shortly.

"No, I learned a look time ago how to go potty by myself."

Hatchet-Face's face turned even more ugly, if that were possible. "Listen, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Either I go with you or you make that puddle."

Connie's face turned pink with embarrassment. "Very well then," and she flounced into the bathroom followed by her escort. The door banged emphatically shut. In a minute or two they came back out and then Connie's hands were tied behind her back. Hatchet-Face said something to one of the men who opened the door and glanced up and down the corridor. She grabbed Connie's purse, dropped the room key into it and put the purse over her own arm, along with her own purse. The man turned and nodded and all of them filed out of the room to a steel door at the end of the corridor and through it to the stairway.

They found themselves on a landing with a flight of stairs leading down to the third floor landing, which had a door to the hotel proper and another flight of stairs to the second floor, and so on down to the first floor. The stairs were narrow, barely wide enough for two, and loud and creaking, and the group of them made a lot of noise going down the stairs.

Hatchet-Face led the way, with her hand in her purse grasping her gun. Next came thug number one holding on to Connie's arm with one hand and pointing his gun at her with the other. Illya followed them with thug number two on his heels, also with his gun out. Then came Napoleon similarly followed by thug number three. Napoleon was about three or four steps past the third floor door, which had an exceptionally loud creak, when he heard something behind him. He turned his head and looked behind him and got the surprise of his life.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

When his wife, escorted by the two UNCLE agents, left the Ministry building, Dane went back to his assigned office and hurriedly finished writing his preliminary report. Just as he finished, the secretary for the general that it was intended for came by his office and Dane stopped her and gave it to her. Completely oblivious to the attractive blonde's appreciative look, he saw the chauffer that was assigned to him coming to ask him if he was needed. Dane asked him to take him back to the hotel. Because of these two happenings he was able to leave sooner than he had anticipated. While they were traveling Dane leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes and kept praying, 'Lord, please protect her, please keep her safe, please help us.'

When he entered the hotel he felt an urgency, an oppression, that something was wrong, that his beloved wife was stressed. He walked up to the counter and asked the clerk, "Is there a phone that I can use to call up to my hotel room?"

"You may use that phone over there," the clerk answered, pointing to a phone booth. "Just dial your room number."

Thanking him, Dane went in, closed the door and dialed 411.

After he hung up from talking to Connie, he walked back to the counter and asked for his room key. When the clerk handed it to him, Dane asked him, "This morning my wife was asking that in case of fire or something and the elevator wasn't working, how would we get off of the top floor?" He gave a conspiratorial wink to the counterman. "You know what wives are like."

"Of course, sir," the clerk politely replied. "At the end of each floor there is a steel door that leads to the stairway. You may use that in case of an emergency."

Dane looked around. "I don't see it. Where does it come out on this floor?"

The clerk pointed to a corridor that began between the front desk and the elevator and ran to the back of the hotel. "It is at the far end of that corridor. The maids use it so as to not inconvenience our guests by using the elevator."

Dane thanked him and sauntered towards the elevator. When he reached the corridor he glanced back at the clerk, saw that he was busy and shot down the corridor. When he reached the end, he confronted three doors. The one in front of him had a lock on it, obviously a door to the outside. To his left was a double door. He opened the steel door to his right and saw the stairway. He ran up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, grimacing at the noise he was making.

When he reached the third floor landing he darted towards the door that led to the hotel corridor just before the door at the fourth floor started to open. Dane ducked through the door and silently closed it, holding the latch so it wouldn't click closed. He held his ear to the door and heard a number of people pass while slipping off his shoes. Once they were gone he cracked open the door, peeked out and saw the retreating backs of Napoleon and another man. He laid down a shoe so it would keep the door from closing and sped after them as silently as he could.

He came up behind the last man, noticed the revolver he was carrying had a silencer on it, gave him a savage karate chop to the neck with his left hand and at the same time grabbed the thug's right hand and bent the wrist inwards so the barrel jammed into the thug's stomach.

Napoleon turned when he heard the 'thunk' of the blow, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the general behind him. With great presence of mind he instantly stepped back on the loud stair so the 'creak' helped cover the noise of the muffled pistol going off from the Thrush agent's reflexive action in pulling the trigger. Napoleon continued on down the stairs while Dane gently laid the body down and whipped out his pocket-knife. Picking up the pistol, he caught up to Napoleon, cut his bonds, handed him the pistol and swept past him to try to do the same thing to the next Thrush agent.

But just as he reached him, the thug, perhaps warned by some sixth sense, turned his head. At the same time, Hatchet-Face reached the landing at the second floor and looked back up the stairs, her mouth forming an 'O' of astonishment.

Dane grabbed the thug's gun hand while the thug grabbed Dane's free hand and the two of them wrestled on the stairway, completely blocking Napoleon. Napoleon yelled, "Look out Illya!" Illya ducked and launched himself into the thug holding Connie, trying to knock him and Hatchet-Face down.

He only partially succeeded. He caught the thug in the middle of the back, but the thug kept his grip on Connie's arm and pulled her down on top of the heap, with him on the bottom, Illya on top of him, Connie sitting on Illya and all of them at Hatchet-Face's feet.

Hatchet-Face yanked her gun out of her purse and Connie swung her feet around, sweeping Hatchet-Face off of her feet. Connie slid off the heap and on to the floor while Illya desperately tried to keep his man down. Thug number one partially succeeded in freeing his gun hand and Illya lunged forward, knocking his arm straight up. Hatchet-Face struggled to her knees and Connie kicked with both feet, knocking her down. Napoleon desperately tried to get a bead on someone, but the two struggling men in front of him completely blocked him off.

Dane suddenly yanked his hand free and with all of his strength buried it in his foe's abdomen, twisting as it went in. The savage and powerful blow lifted the thug off of his feet, doubling him over and Dane ripped the gun out of his hand.

At last Napoleon was free to do something. He saw Illya get hit on the head, partially stunning him and getting pushed off of his foe. Napoleon aimed at the thug and just as he was pulling the trigger, he saw out of the corner of his eye, to his horror, Hatchet-Face, her face twisted with insane hatred, swinging her pistol towards Connie. Two shots rang out as one.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Napoleon's bullet struck his target in the chest. Dane's bullet hit Hatchet-Face right between the eyes. Both of them ran down the remaining stairs, Dane pulling out his knife again. He reached Connie as she was struggling to her feet, cut her bonds, handed the knife to Napoleon, and husband and wife clung to each other.

"Oh, Dane," she almost sobbed, "I prayed and prayed and prayed that you would understand what I was trying to tell you."

"Thank God I did," Dane answered comfortingly as they continued to hug each other.

Napoleon freed Illya, who looked at the hugging pair and asked plaintively, "Don't I get a hug too?"

Connie raised her head, "Does your booboo need a kiss to make it better?" she twinkled back at him.

Napoleon caught his breath and stared at her in awe. What a woman! Captured, tied up and threatened, with a maniac ready to shoot her, and she comes out joking. He could only think one other woman who might do that: April Dancer, the top UNCLE female agent.

Dane looked around at the bodies, "We are going to get in a lot of trouble over this."

Napoleon took charge, "Not if we can get them into your room without being discovered." He and Illya retrieved their belongings and then Napoleon ran back up the stairs and looked at the thug the general had fought with. He bent over him and then saw the trickle of blood that had come out of his mouth. He felt for a pulse and found none. He sat back on his heels and looked with respect at the general. He had killed the man with just one blow, probably by rupturing internal organs and then bleeding to death. He now realized what Mr. Waverly had meant when he had said that General Shaw was one of the most feared hand-to-hand fighters in the American Army. He said to the others, "Let's get them up there. Mrs. Shaw, check the corridor when we get up there to make sure it is clear." He bent down and got the body into a fireman's lift.

"Connie," Dane said, "get my shoes from the third floor door."

Connie acknowledged the orders, grabbed the purses and scampered up the stairs. Napoleon checked Illya, who although somewhat pale had his man also in a fireman's lift, and then glanced at Dane. To his surprise, Dane had a body on each shoulder- Hatchet-Face and one of her goons. Napoleon checked the landing and stairs and didn't see anything that they were leaving behind and then headed up the stairs. Connie gave the all clear and they moved as fast as they could into the room where they dumped the bodies.

Illya collapsed on the bed while Napoleon pulled out his communicator and said, "Open channel F. Stockholm. Cleanup squad, Isnetrad Hotel, room 411, four to remove. Solo out." He looked with concern at Illya, who gave a lopsided grin back, "I'll be all right; I just need to lay down for a little bit. I'll wait for the squad and then join you."

Napoleon was reassured and then turned to the Shaws. "Pack everything up but leave your suitcases here. They'll be taken to another hotel and registered under another name." Dane and Connie soon had everything packed up and then Connie looked at her watch. "It's way past noon and I'm hungry. Where should we go for lunch?"

Napoleon was past surprises where the beautiful Mrs. Shaw was concerned. Here she was, standing in a room amid dead bodies and coolly demanding to be fed. "I'll take you to a nice quiet restaurant I know," Napoleon told them.

Illya said from the bed, "I'll meet you there," and the three of them left.

They rode down the elevator and Napoleon led them to his car and drove them to the restaurant. Napoleon asked for a table for four, explaining that they were to meet someone there and they were seated. "Their specialty is seafood and I can recommend the baked cod," Napoleon told them. They placed their orders and then Dane speared Napoleon with a glance.

"I thought I told you to take good care of her," Dane said quietly, which somehow made it seem even more threatening.

Connie put her hand over her husband's, "He couldn't help it, they took us by surprise by being in our room before we got there."

Dane continued to stare at Napoleon, "Nevertheless, I expect you to protect her."

"I will do everything in my power to keep her safe," Napoleon assured him.

The buxom and very pretty waitress arrived just then to take their orders, which was a relief to Napoleon. She was very friendly to the two men and Connie laid a proprietary hand over Dane's with a glance at the waitress, who read it very well and transferred her attention to Napoleon, who made ordering his meal a flirtatious event. She asked what kind of beer they wanted with their meal and Dane mildly said that alcohol didn't agree with them. Coffee was served to all three.

When the food arrived Napoleon started to pick up his fork when he saw that other two bow their heads and Dane started praying softly, "Dear God, thank you for this food, thank you for protecting all of us this morning and I pray you will continue to watch over us and protect us and guide us. In Jesus name we pray, amen."

Napoleon sat silently while Dane prayed. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard someone give grace.

They were eating when Illya made his appearance. He had a small bandage on his head which gave him a somewhat rakish look. He handed over two hotel keys to Dane and said, "Your bags have been moved to another hotel, the Straschengraden, where you are registered as Mr. and Mrs. Doug Stratton."

"The initials on our luggage," Connie said brightly.

"Exactly," Illya nodded. "You are still registered at the Isnetrad, but don't go back there."

"What about my chauffer from the Swedish Army, he'll want to pick me up and drop me off there?" Dane asked.

"You'll have to cancel that. An UNCLE agent will act as your chauffer; he will be here in a few minutes to take you wherever you want to go."

Dane nodded his agreement. Napoleon was shocked. In his dealings with generals, whenever you tried to tell them what to do, they raised all kinds of objections. This general didn't. Apparently, he recognized expert advice when it was given and went with it.

The buxom and very pretty waitress appeared again, but when she saw Illya she stared at him. "Oh, you have been hurt, was it recent?"

"Just about half an hour ago," Illya answered.

"Oh, you poor man, you must be very careful with head injuries, sometimes there is delayed shock or even a concussion."

"I don't think there is any permanent damage," Illya protested.

"One never knows," Napoleon said sotto voice.

The waitress didn't pay him any attention as she hovered over Illya like a ministering angel. Finally she left with Illya's order.

Illya turned to the Shaws. "Can you tell me how you managed to alert your husband and not give a clue to any of the rest of us?" he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"She called me Sugar, I dislike being called that," Dane answered. "And when I asked if she was free, she said no."

"Goldman was the name of the man who held me hostage once," Connie chimed in, subjecting her plate to a searching look before choosing her next succulent bite. 'Mmm, this is good," she exclaimed.

"And she said there was more than one and I had never seen them before," Dane went on.

"I was really praying that you would catch the back stairs part," Connie interjected.

"Well, you kept saying the word 'back' and you couldn't come down the elevator, so…" Dane shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing.

Napoleon and Illya gaped at them. "Did you have these code words already arranged between you?" Napoleon asked incredulously.

Both Dane and Connie looked at him in surprise. "Of course not! Who would ever think we would need such a thing?" Dane asked.

"You just…on the spur of the moment…figured them out?" Napoleon gasped in surprise.

"Yes, well, mind you I had a hint when the phone rang seven times before it was answered, and I knew very well that there were three of you waiting for my call. There was no legitimate reason for that to happen, and besides," he smiled tenderly at his wife, "I had a feeling that all was not well, that you were under stress."

The two UNCLE agents looked at each other in shock, and Napoleon remembered what Mrs. Shaw had said on the telephone. "Telepathy?" he mouthed to Illya, who shrugged.

Napoleon's communicator beeped.

"He has a pen that beeps," Connie kindly explained to her husband.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Napoleon answered it, "Solo here."

A full, rich English voice answered, "Sir John Raleigh. I was instructed to check in with you when I landed in Stockholm." Although Napoleon had never actually met Sir John before, he was well aware that Sir John was the number one enforcement agent for UNCLE's European section. Napoleon rapidly brought Sir John up to date on the happenings of the day, only being interrupted once.

"You grabbed the wrong blonde?" Sir John asked incredulously.

Napoleon gritted his teeth in frustration at the second time he had been told that while ignoring three pairs of eyes: Illya's dancing with amusement, Mrs. Shaw's much too bland and innocent and General Shaw's glaring ones.

"Napoleon isn't having his most stellar day," Illya chortled. Dane reluctantly grinned while Connie gave her entrancing gurgling chuckle. Napoleon finished the narration.

"What is it you want me to do?" Sir John queried.

Napoleon focused on the problem. "Judging by the code phrases that were to be used and that she knew those particular paintings were there, I would guess she is an art lover and therefore a frequent visitor there. Check the security tape of us leaving the museum at around 11:30 and get a picture of the blonde following us. Show it to the cashiers and see if they recognize her. I'm wondering if she has a season pass or whatever they call it here."

"Will do, old chap. I'll keep you posted," and Sir John signed off.

The buxom and very pretty waitress came bustling over with Illya's lunch. "Are you feeling good?" she asked him with concern. "No headache, no feeling…you know…," and she gestured so that all of them realized her meaning.

"No, I am not feeling nauseous," Illya assured her.

"It is such a pretty head, it would be such a pity if it was permanently damaged."

All of them, especially Illya, looked surprised. "I would also be distressed if it was permanently damaged, but it is really a minor bump," Illya tried to explain.

"I do heads, how you say, busts," the waitress said proudly. "I have the special medicine, an old family recipe, causes fast healing with no scarring or unsightly marks. If you would care I could give you some this evening," she said eagerly. "Then maybe you would let me do your bust. You have such a strong face, such character," she sighed.

Illya replied, his face showing embarrassment, "I am rather expecting to be busy tonight."

"If you have a change of plans my name is Greta and I get off at nine," she said invitingly.

As she left, there was amused looks all around but Illya said with relief, changing the subject, "Here comes your chauffer." A rather large man, blue-eyed and blond of course, came up to their table and Illya introduced him as Olaf Olafson. When the introductions were made Napoleon got a rather perverse enjoyment from the look of stunned admiration on Mr. Olafson's face when he was introduced to Mrs. Shaw.

"I would be most happy to drive Mrs. Shaw wherever she desires," he said fulsomely and holding on to her hand longer than necessary.

"You are to drive General Shaw," Illya said dryly.

"Oh," Olaf seemingly noticed her husband for the first time and dropped her hand. His face became rather flushed as he added, "Whenever you are ready, General."

Dane and Connie stared at each other for a long moment. Finally she said, "You have to go. If you don't show up you will put the Ministry in an uproar and they will feel slighted and there will be those nasty diplomatic cables flying back and forth between the governments. You must go back this afternoon,"

"I know," Dane said softly.

Connie stated firmly. "I will be all right this afternoon; Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will protect me."

"They haven't done a very good job so far," Dane growled, glaring at Napoleon.

"They will do just fine. There will be no problems, I promise you."

Napoleon wished he felt as confident as Mrs. Shaw did, and how in the world could she promise such a thing and why would her husband take her word for it? But apparently he did. He stared at her again and then nodded. They exchanged a long hearty kiss. When the general raised his head Napoleon was surprised to see a greenish tinge to the general's eyes.

Dane looked at his wife and said, "I will leave the ministry at five." He looked at Napoleon and Illya and said, "Watch over her and take care of her." He turned and walked away.

Napoleon asked in amazement, "Did your husband's eyes change color?"

Connie nodded as she watched him walk away. "Yes, green flecks appear when he is emotional." She looked at them, "He hated to leave me." She looked back at him as he disappeared, her face shining with love for her man. For that moment in time, with that look on her face, Napoleon knew that he was looking at the most beautiful woman in the world. He realized that this was a couple who was deeply, completely and passionately in love with each other. He felt a strange emotion for a second, was it envy? He looked at Illya who had an equally funny look on his face. Napoleon shook it off; there was work to be done in order to justify Mrs. Shaw's faith in them.

They left the restaurant and Illya drove to the Straschengraden Hotel. The three of them went up in the self-service elevator with no other passengers. At the room door Illya and Connie stayed behind while Napoleon checked for intruders, gun in hand. Finding none, he waved them in.

When she entered, Connie gave a whistle. "This is really nice!" she exclaimed. It was not just a room but a suite. The center of the suite was a sitting room with a tiny dinette to one side. Napoleons pointed out that the two doors on the right were the bathroom and the master bedroom where the Shaws would sleep. "Illya and I have these two bedrooms," Napoleon pointed to the two doors on the left wall. "At least one of us will be awake at all times. Your bags are in your bedroom."

Connie nodded her thanks. "I'll just go and put things away," she said and disappeared into the room. In a little while she came out wearing a red dress which Napoleon thought made her even more beautiful, if that was possible. But it was his opinion that even if she was wearing a burlap sack it couldn't hide the fact that she was all woman.

As the afternoon passed the men took turns dozing while Connie read a novel, brought along, she explained, because she knew there would be downtime while her husband was busy.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Napoleon was feeling depressed. Here he was, ensconced in a hotel room with an extremely beautiful woman, and he would have liked nothing better than to engage in an agreeable flirtation to while away the afternoon, but instead the aforementioned beauty preferred a book to his company. It was a blow to his self-esteem. What was it Illya had said earlier, that he, Napoleon, wasn't having a stellar day? Well Illya could say that again!

His communicator beeped. Connie looked over the top of her book with dancing eyes and an impish smile on her face. Napoleon grinned back and answered, "Solo here."

"Sir John Raleigh," came his English voice. "I have located the young lady."

Napoleon sat up straight. "What is her name?" he asked.

"Anneke Hendrickson, and she has the Kingdom Come formula."

"The what formula?" Napoleon was puzzled.

"I'll let her explain. Where are you?"

"At the Straschengraden Hotel, suite 204."

"Right-o, be there in two shakes, Sir John out."

It was only a few minutes later that there was a knock on the door and the familiar tone of Sir John's voice announcing himself. Napoleon opened the door and the first person to come in was the other blonde that had been at the museum this morning. She flounced in with cheeks red with outrage and her blue eyes snapping with temper. When she saw Napoleon she stopped and pointed at him.

"You!" she exclaimed dramatically. "You were the one at the museum. You are the one that caused this…this man to come bursting into my home and drag me here!" She pointed to the man who followed her in. He was of medium height and the epitome of an English gentleman. From the top of his derby hat to the soles of his leather shoes he was correctly and nattily dressed with a pleasant smile on his face. Connie noticed the smile didn't extend to his eyes, which were cool and on guard. She also noticed something else.

Sir John made the introductions. "Miss Anneke Hendrickson, this is Mr. Napoleon Solo and Mr. Illya Kuryakin (although he had never met them, he knew very well what the two top UNCLE agents looked like) and, um…" He looked inquiringly at Connie.

"Mrs. Connie Shaw," Connie answered for herself. "Please, won't you be seated," she invited.

"Charmed to make your acquaintance," Sir John bowed slightly while giving her a genuine smile that included his eyes.

"Ha!" exclaimed Miss Hendrickson. "If you had been abducted and dragged from your home, you wouldn't be so calm about it." She glared at Connie, trying to remain the center of attention.

"On the contrary, I have been abducted twice today," she smiled sweetly at Anneke. "Is there anything I can get you, Miss Hendrickson, Sir Raleigh?"

"Oh," Anneke collapsed onto a chair, the wind taken out of her sails.

"If I could have a cup of tea, that would be marvelous, and please call me Sir John," Sir John gratefully sat down also.

"I'm not sure what the amenities are here," Connie answered doubtfully, moving to the kitchenette and assuming the role of hostess. She opened a door and crowed, "Here we go, tea leaves and a tea strainer." She held up the items in triumph. "Does anyone else want some?"

The others declined and Connie put the tea kettle, also provided, on to boil while explaining, "When we were stationed in England I learned how to make English tea."

While the water was coming to a boil, Napoleon gave Sir John a questioning look, "Abducted?"

"I politely knocked on her door, ascertained that she was the possessor of the formula and invited her to come here and complete the transaction," Sir John rather wearily explained.

"He forced me to come!" Anneke interjected. She glared at Napoleon. "If you had been on time at the museum I wouldn't have been subjected to this!"

Napoleon looked at her blankly. "But I was dead on time, at exactly 11:30 I was standing at the painting."

"No you weren't," Anneke protested vigorously. "You were at least five minutes early."

"No," Napoleon was positive, "I was right on time. See, it is 4:50 now," and he showed her his watch.

"Your watch is wrong. See, it is 4:40," and she showed him her watch.

Sir John and Illya glanced at their watches. "I'm afraid you are mistaken," Illya said. "It is 4:50."

Anneke checked Illya's watch, then Sir John's and then the clock in the room. She said something in Swedish and then switched back to English. "I guess this thing lost time again." She glared at it and then reset it.

Connie was investigating the mini-fridge and burst out, "They have cream! This hotel must cater to quite a few English guests." She brought Sir John his tea and cream and received a grateful smile in return and then sat down with her cup.

"And now to business," Napoleon said. "Do you have the formula?"

"Yes!" Anneke firmly averred and added, "I also have a sample." She pulled a white 2 inch cube box out of her purse and handed it to Napoleon. He pulled the top off and saw it was packed full of soft packing. He probed inside and fumbled out a brown walnut-sized sphere.

"Be careful!" Anneke screeched. "You'll blow me to kingdom come!"

The others all gaped at her and then the innocent looking ball. "It is very unstable. If it is dropped it will explode,"Anneke explained.

Napoleon carefully repacked it. "How big of an explosion would it be?" Illya asked in academic interest.

"Oh," Anneke glanced around, "it would take out more than this room."

"Well, give me the formula and I will take them back to UNCLE," Napoleon held out is hand.

"Give? I'm not giving anything away." Anneke looked at him in surprise. "I am selling it. What is your bid?" She reached over and snatched the box out of Napoleon's hand. He decided not to fight over it.

"Bid?" Napoleon asked. "You mean you have other bidders?"

"Yes."

"Who are they?"

Anneke looked suspiciously at Napoleon, but decided it would do no harm to answer the question. "Well, there is your organization and the Charteaux Corporation…"

"Charteaux Corporation?" Illya interrupted. The three UNCLE agents stared at each other.

"The Charteaux Corporation is one of the fronts that Thrush uses," Napoleon explained to the two women. "Who else is there?" he asked Anneke.

"Baron Jurn was the other one who expressed an interest."

"Baron Jurn?" Napoleon wrinkled his nose in puzzlement. "Who is that?"

"He is an industrialist, mostly armaments. There has been speculation that he has engaged in some shady dealings before but nothing has been proved," Sir John put in, and then gave a big yawn.

"How did you come into possession of the formula?" Napoleon queried.

"My uncle invented it and I named it the Kingdom Come formula when we almost blew ourselves up," Anneke replied as she stuffed the box back into her purse. "He was a chemist."

"Was?" Connie asked with a look of concern on her face.

"Yes, he dropped dead from a heart attack. So now there is no paycheck and no pension. That is why I must sell it. After all, a girl must eat." That put her in mind of another grievance. She sat up straighter and glared at Sir John. "That reminds me, you dragged me away from my supper! The least you can do is provide my dinner."

"My husband will be here soon and we can all go and eat," Connie interjected pacifically. She turned to Sir John, "Pardon me for bringing it up, but I couldn't help but notice how tired you looked when you came in. Would you like to lie down while we wait for him? With all the beds in this suite I'm sure that you could use one. Did you have a long day?"

Sir John looked grateful. "Actually two days, I didn't get any sleep last night. I was hoping to catch 40 winks on the plane ride back to London, but…" he shrugged resignedly.

Napoleon gestured to Illya's room, "You can use that room." Illya gave Napoleon a speaking look. "There are two beds, help yourself," he said politely to Sir John.

"If you don't mind," Sir John got to his feet, "I will take a nap first and eat later, if that is acceptable to you, Mrs. Shaw?"

"Certainly, Sir John." He gave a slight bow to her while Napoleon added, "If you change your mind, we will be eating in the hotel restaurant." Sir John acknowledged the information and disappeared into the next room.

Napoleon looked with respect at Mrs. Shaw and this new facet of her character. She was observant, kind-hearted and a good hostess. He turned back to Anneke, "I will get in touch with my supervisor and see what amount of money he will authorize."

The conversation turned general until Dane arrived. He was introduced to Anneke and informed of the supper plans. They went downstairs to the nearly empty restaurant (it was too early for most diners) and the waitress led them to a table, handed them menus, and left them.

Napoleon was perusing his menu when the wine waiter came up with a bottle of wine. Napoleon waved him off, irritated at the man's presence when he hadn't decided what to order, and didn't raise his eyes from the menu.

"If you please," the waiter said in a rather high pitched voice.

Napoleon waved him off again, but then out of the corner of his eye noticed Dane look up, stiffen and start to rise, and then sit back down with his face becoming hard. Alarmed, Napoleon looked up.

And up.

And up.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The man standing next to them was huge, standing almost seven feet tall. His massive build made his head look proportionally too small. His face had a cherubic look that looked vaguely familiar. His left hand held a bottle of wine. A snub-nose .38 was almost hidden in his massive right hand.

"If you please," he said in his surprisingly high pitched voice, "Baron Jurn would like your company."

"This is too much!" Connie snapped, slapping her menu onto the table. "To be kidnapped three times in one day is too…too outrageous!" She glared at him with her blue eyes shooting fire.

The man lost his smile in his confusion. "If you please, not to alarm any bystanders so they will not be harmed."

Connie snatched up her purse, slid to her feet and stalked off, her back expressing her outrage.

As the three men got to their feet, Napoleon would have liked their combined chances against the mountain-sized man, but the four men also armed with snub-nosed .38's who appeared made the odds against them.

The five of them were herded towards the exit when Napoleon got his next surprise. A little old grey-haired lady with an enormous purse was standing there. She was wearing a dress so simple it screamed haute couture and wearing what looked like a priceless necklace of pearls.

"I am so glad that I saw you here so I can invite you to my house," she babbled. "I just couldn't bear for you not to come for a visit." She handed the rather bewildered cashier a bill, "This is for any inconvenience I caused by whisking my friends away."

They were all herded outside and once out of sight of bystanders the men were frisked and relieved of their weapons and communicators and the women's purses politely taken away. They were seated in a stretch limo with each of the three men seated next to a man with a gun and the fourth guard was between the ladies. The little old lady seated herself and pulled the enormous gun out of purse. Napoleon noticed her henchmen got nervous looks on their faces. The big man got behind the wheel and drove off.

After about twenty minutes they turned off into a long drive that ended at a real castle. They drove into the courtyard and stopped and everyone got out. Eight more armed men were standing around the limo and the little old grey-haired lady gestured towards two of them. "You two come with me and someone inform the Baron that we will be in the interrogation room."

She led the large group of people into the castle, down a flight of stairs, along a corridor, down more stairs and along a dimly lit corridor. Something small and furry that emitted a squeak scurried in front of her. She jumped, screeched, babbled something in Swedish, and pushed one of the guards to go in front of her. She nervously scanned the floor while following him through a door and into a room.

The room was about ten feet wide by fifteen feet long and sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs. Off to one side a couple of steel pipes were laying on the floor. The five prisoners were standing at one end of the room while their guards faced them. The little old grey-haired lady pointed her gun in the direction of Napoleon, but the way the gun barrel waved around, Napoleon couldn't guess who might get shot if it went off. Now he understood why the guards were nervous earlier. As a matter of fact, they all retired behind her now.

While they waited for the Baron to appear, Napoleon glanced at his fellow prisoners. Miss Hendrickson was to his left with a scared look on her face at this actual kidnapping. Illya was to his right looking calm, almost uninterested in the proceedings. Napoleon wasn't fooled; he knew his friend was alert and ready to spring into action when the opportunity presented itself. To Illya's right was General Shaw who hadn't said a word since they were taken but still had that hard look on his face. Mrs. Shaw, to his right and closest to the door, looked irritated at the whole proceedings.

There was a stir by the door and the Baron walked in, resplendent in evening dress. He was middle-aged, middle-height and looked suave, sophisticated and urbane except for his eyes, which were utterly cold and ruthless. "Ah, thank you for accepting my invitation, he said suavely and urbanely in nearly accent-less English. Let me introduce myself. I am Baron Jurn. This is my mother, Baroness Jurn," indicating the little old grey-haired lady.

"Surely you mean Dowager Baroness Jurn?" Connie interrupted.

"Technically, yes, Dowager Baroness Jurn," the Baron agreed. He looked Connie up and down. "The post of Baroness is available if you wish to fill it," he said suavely and urbanely.

She looked him up and down. "Not interested, besides I am already taken," she declined politely. They exchanged insincere smiles.

The Baron indicated the huge man. "This is my right hand man, Mahn Montan."

"Very aptly named, Man Mountain," Napoleon interjected, eyeing him up and down.

A slight frown marred the Baron's face before it was smoothed away to its suave, sophisticated and urbane expression. "Not Man Mountain, Mahn Montan," he enunciated the syllables distinctly. "And you and your friends are?"

"Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin, Miss Hendrickson, General and Mrs. Shaw," Napoleon made the introductions.

"Those are the two that met at the museum," the Baroness said, indicating Napoleon and Connie with one hand while her gun, supported only by the other hand wobbled all over the place.

Baron Jurn acknowledged the information and then asked, "Which of you two ladies has the formula?"

"How much is your bid?" Anneke demanded.

The Baron gave a mirthless smile, "I am not going to buy it, I am taking it. You might leave here alive if you cooperate."

The Baroness interrupted with a spate of Swedish words.

"Now Mama, it is not polite to speak in a language that our guests can't understand." The Baron looked at them. "She does so love her hobby of target practice," Baron Jurn paused, "with live targets."

Anneke looked horrified while Dane spoke up. 'Since you say we are guests, we'll thank you for your hospitality and take our leave now," he said with sardonic humor as he took a step forward.

The Baron glared at him. "Nobody leaves until I get what I want."

"If you don't mind me asking," Illya broke in, "how did you find us? I thought I had hidden our tracks."

The Baron gave a tiny smile. "We checked the security tape at the museum and asked the employees if anyone recognized the women. No one did you," he gave a slight bow to Connie," but they did Miss Hendrickson. My men arrived just as she and another man left and followed them to the hotel."

"You mean they let you look at those tapes?" Illya asked in surprise.

"Of course," Baron Jurn permitted himself another tiny smile. "I am a major contributor to the museum. And now back to business." He picked up one of the purses, which by chance was Anneke's, and started to dump it on the table.

"Be careful!" Anneke yelped as she stared fearfully at her purse.

Baron Jurn stopped and then gingerly pawed through her purse. He pulled out the white box and looked at Anneke. Seeing the expression on her face, he opened the box and peered inside. "This is a sample of the explosive, I assume?" he asked her.

Defeated, Anneke nodded.

"And now for the formula," Baron Jurn asked suavely and urbanely. "Where is it?" not so suavely or urbanely.

Anneke shuddered. "Well, actually, there isn't a formula," she admitted.

"I don't believe you," the Baron said silkily.

"It's true," Anneke protested. "My uncle created it by accident and never wrote it down. It died with him."

Baron Jurn pocketed the box. "Well, my chemists will be able to discover the formula from this sample." He leered at the prisoners. "And now, Mama, for your new targets…"

He didn't get any further as Connie stared at the floor just behind the Baroness and suddenly screeched, "Eek, rats!"

At that point in time several things happened in rapid sequence.

First, the Baroness dropped her gun and, with practically a standing high jump, leaped onto the table and started screaming.

Second, the gun went off when it hit the floor, which was both fortunate and unfortunate. Fortunately, the bullet missed the good guys and caused the bad guys involuntarily to duck. Unfortunately, it missed the bad guys too.

Third, Dane burst into action. He moved so fast that in comparison everyone else seemed to be moving in slow motion, and with his full step advantage he was in and among the six guards seconds before Illya joined him and bodies started flying around.

Napoleon was left facing Mahn Montan. Napoleon lunged forward and gave his gun hand a judo chop across the wrist that threatened to break Napoleon's hand and the gun went skidding across the floor. Napoleon punched Mahn in the stomach. It felt like he had hit a punching bag and had the same result. Napoleon hit him twice more with no more effect. He looked up to Mahn's face, which showed him a cherubic smile ("Why did that look seem so familiar," Napoleon thought to himself) and got a bad feeling about this. Mahn wrapped both arms around Napoleon, lifted him up, and started squeezing.

Napoleon got one arm free before he was lifted up in the air, and now that Mahn's head was in range started raining blow after blow on it while Mahn was crushing Napoleon's ribs. Napoleon tried to arch his back from the agony and in desperation jabbed a thumb into Mahn's eye.

Mahn squealed, threw Napoleon down, and grabbed his eye. As Napoleon fell to the floor, he saw a flash as Dane flew feet first giving Mahn a double kick in the abdomen. Mahn went "Oof" as the air was knocked out of his lungs from the devastating kick. He staggered backwards, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. The whole room seemed to tremble from the shock, and he started gasping for air.

As Napoleon scrambled to his feet he looked around. Three of the guards were lying on the floor and not moving. The other three were beating up on Illya. The Baroness was standing on the table screaming. Anneke was screaming in symphony with her. Connie was backed up to the wall out of the way, watching the proceedings with an interested eye. The Baron had lost his suave, sophisticated and urbane look and had a shocked look on his face at the rapid turn of events. Dane rolled to his feet and shot over to help Illya.

Napoleon grabbed a chair and crashed it over the head of Mahn as he was getting to his feet. The chair broke into pieces. Mahn blinked. Napoleon got another bad feeling.

Napoleon set himself and hit Mahn as hard as he could. Mahn's head moved half an inch from the force of the blow. Napoleon hit him once more, then again, and then Mahn clobbered him. Stars exploded in Napoleon's head and his legs became rubbery. As he staggered back, Mahn hit him again and Napoleon flew across the room.

Again he saw the flashing form as Dane flew in feet first, low and from Mahn's side. Before Mahn could move, Dane crashed into Mahn's knee, breaking it and bending it sideways. Mahn screamed and fell to his knees. Dane jumped to his feet and started launching blow after blow into Mahn's face. At each solid 'kerthunk' Mahn's head rocked back.

Desperately, Mahn grabbed at Dane and tried to wrap his arms around him. He missed Dane's arms but wrapped his arms around Dane's ribs and buried his face into Dane's chest so Dane couldn't poke his eye out.

With his right arm Dane grabbed Mahn's head and forced it to tilt sideways. With the stiffened fingers of his left hand Dane drove them into the side of Mahn's neck. Mahn started gagging as Dane repeated the blow. Mahn threw Dane away from him, his face turning blue and making horrific breathing noises.

As Dane staggered back, and as Napoleon scrambled to his feet, Napoleon's hand fell on one of the steel pipes. Napoleon rushed forward and brought the steel pipe down on top of Mahn's head. The pipe got a sudden 45 degree bend where it collided with Mahn's head. Mahn's eyes crossed and then rolled back in his head. He swayed and then crumpled to the floor. As Napoleon stared at the crumpled form it suddenly dawned on him why Mahn's face seemed so familiar. It had the same cherubic look as the painting Napoleon had seen this morning, 'Child With Kitten'.

Napoleon looked around just as Illya took care of the last guard, knocking him out. Baron Jurn made a sudden move and picked up Mahn's gun from where it had slid near to him. Then he made his fatal mistake.

He grabbed Connie.

With one arm he pinioned her arms to her side and pointed the gun towards the men. "If you are through with these heroics…"he began.

Connie lifted up one leg as high as it would go, bending her knee (and exposing a luscious length of leg, Napoleon noticed) and kicking back as hard as she could. When she rammed her high heel into the Baron's leg just above his knee he stopped speaking and his mouth became an 'O' of pain. He involuntarily loosened his hold on the gun and it dropped to the floor. She twisted free of his loosened grasp, balled her fist and hit him in the jaw. He staggered towards the doorway.

"You grabbed me," she stormed at him, her blue eyes blazing fire. "Nobody touches me!"

The Baroness suddenly stopped screaming, jumped off the table and scurried through the door, squeaking as she went. Dane shot towards the Baron, who with great presence of mind grabbed the white box out of his pocket and tossed the brown walnut-sized sphere into the room. Involuntarily, most eyes in the room followed the arching ball.

"Dane," screamed Connie, "grab it."

Napoleon watched in awe as incredibly, Dane made a 90 degree turn in mid-step, leapt into the air with both arms extended, snatched the ball with both hands, twisted in mid-air, landed on his shoulder and rolled to his feet, all in one smooth motion.

The door clanged shut.

Napoleon rushed to the door and futilely tried to open it. The door was locked. He spun around and looked around the room. There weren't any windows. Then, for the first time, he noticed the drain in the floor, a large drain. Alarmed, he looked up to the ceiling. The ceiling was crisscrossed with steel pipes that had sprinkler heads on them. A lot of sprinkler heads. He got another bad feeling about this.

"Can we use the explosive to blow open the door?" he asked his audience.

Illya frowned at the door. "If we just place the explosive at the door, the force of the explosion will come inwards and we will all be killed from the concussion, if the explosive is powerful enough."

"It is," affirmed Anneke. "It would kill all of us." Her face was rather white.

Napoleon looked at the bodies lying on the floor. In his experienced opinion, several of them would never rise again. "If we piled the bodies in front of the door to absorb the concussion…" he began.

Water started pouring out of the sprinklers. The shock of the cold water almost drove the breath out of Napoleon. In seconds they were all soaked to the skin. Napoleon, gentlemanly, avoided looking the women's shivering and revealing forms. He started to pick up a lifeless form when Anneke interrupted him. "That won't be necessary now. One of the properties of the explosive is that it dissolves in water."

They all stared at Dane's hands from which brown stained water could be seen dripping. He opened his hands and they all watched the explosive disappear between his fingers.

Napoleon ran back to the door. Frantically he and Illya searched the door for any weakness. There were no bolts, screws or fasteners of any kind on this side of the door. The water was over their shoes now, and another danger reared its ugly head. Several of Baron Jurn's men started groaning and coming to. Napoleon searched the room again with his eyes.

The water stopped.

Then came the sounds of the door being unlocked and it opened. Sir John stood in the doorway. "Is this a private party, or may anyone join in?" he asked politely.

"Sir John!" exclaimed Anneke as she flung herself at him. "You came for me and rescued me!"

Sir John gently pushed her away and gave a fastidious shudder at the large wet spot on his coat.

"How did you find us?" Napoleon asked in amazement.

Sir John explained as they stepped out of the room. "I woke up and decided to join you for supper. When I went to the restaurant, you weren't there. The cashier said you had just left with some people. When I looked out of the door, I saw you being loaded into the limo. I followed you here and waited for the strike team I had called for to arrive, then we assaulted the castle, as it were."

Outside the door, Olaf and a couple of other UNCLE agents were handcuffing the Baron and Baroness. The Baron was remonstrating in a way that was neither suave, nor sophisticated, nor urbane. "I didn't know anyone was in there," he was protesting. "I was trying to drown the rats. I've got witnesses that can prove it. These old castles are overrun with rats, you know."

At each mention of the word 'rats', the Baroness would squeak and jump. They were led away.

Napoleon turned to the Shaws. "Did you two somehow connive to make that diversion about the rats?" he asked, puzzled.

They looked at each other. "Not exactly," Dane explained. "I knew she would make a diversion and I was ready for it. I made a little one of my own so that I could move closer."

Napoleon looked in amazement at the two of them and then made an offer. "You two make such an incredible team, if you were interested in changing careers, there is a place in UNCLE for you two."

"You mean become secret agents and travel the world to exotic places and have exciting adventures instead of being stuck at home doing laundry and wiping running noses?" Connie asked.

"Yes," Napoleon nodded.

She and her husband locked glances. Napoleon could almost feel the communication flowing between them. He realized they didn't have telepathy. Instead they were so in tune with each other and knew each other so well, they knew what the other was thinking.

Connie looked at him. "No thank you," she politely declined. "I wouldn't give up my exciting life as a wife and mother for anything." She shivered and sneezed.

Dane broke in with a worried look at her. "You need a hot bath to warm you up so you don't catch cold." He sneezed.

"You need one too," Connie insisted. Their gazes locked again and Napoleon saw Dane's eyes become greenish again and Connie's cheeks turned pink. It didn't take a genius to realize that they were exchanging strictly X-rated thoughts.

"When we get back to the hotel and dried off, Illya and I will switch to other hotel rooms and you can have the suite to yourselves," Napoleon hurriedly offered.

"Thank you," Dane replied and the two of them wrapped an arm around each other's shivering body and followed Olaf.

Napoleon stared after them with a pang of…regret?...envy?...sadness? Would he ever have a relationship like these two had? But then he remembered some of the beautiful women he had known in the past and the feeling left him. After all, variety was the spice of life, and maybe this evening wouldn't be ruined after all. He turned to Anneke with his most charming smile. "You have been badly treated, and I was wondering if I could take you out to supper to make amends?" he offered.

She glared at him. "You are the reason I got into all this trouble," she said rather unfairly. She turned a glowing face to Sir John. "Sir John was the one that came to my rescue like a knight on a white steed." She wrapped an arm around his. "When I get dried off, you can take me to a fabulous and frightfully expensive restaurant I know."

Sir John looked at her. "Well, I haven't had supper yet. Do they serve tea?" They followed the Shaws.

Napoleon looked at Illya who was touching various places on his face and wincing at the sore places. "I wonder if her concoction really works, Napoleon. I think I'll look up Greta and see. Maybe she will still want to make my bust." Illya followed the others, leaving Napoleon standing alone.

"You know, Napoleon old fellow, today just wasn't your day," Napoleon said to himself.


End file.
